Several years ago, I was given a book entitled 212: The Extra Degree.  The basic premise is the following:

At 211º water is hot. At 212º, it boils. And with boiling water, comes steam. And steam can power a locomotive. The one extra degree makes the difference. This simple analogy reflects the ultimate definition of excellence. Because it’s the one extra degree of effort, in business and life, that can separate the good from the great.

This week, our church has been focusing on that one degree of change, that one single degree that makes a world of difference.  Whether it’s the pinpoint accuracy of an arrow shooting from an archer’s bow or the meticulous charting of a navigator on a ship, one degree can mean the difference between reaching your goal or straying far from it…and ultimately between life and death.  Spiritually speaking, that one degree of change have a tremendous impact on not only our daily lives but also on eternity.  And this morning, the question was asked:  will you be the one God uses?

That question – those 7 simple words – challenge me deeply.  Because I can never fully know God’s plan this side of eternity, I must constantly follow, obey, and submit my wants and desires to His will and His plan.  Because I can never fully see the far-reaching effects of my words and actions, I must continually be on guard against unkindness, favoritism, or hypocrisy.  Because I can never completely anticipate God’s timing or comprehend the scope of His knowledge, I must actively take advantage of opportunities that He brings my way.

Often, that’s hard.  I get tired.  I get overwhelmed, emotionally and spiritually.  I’m afraid of what the commitment will cost.  I don’t have time.  But in the grand scheme of eternity, those are sorry excuses.  And quite honestly, God doesn’t ask of me what He’s not willing to provide.  I’ve got the resources of the King of the Universe at my disposal.  All I have  to do is ask.

And so that questions stirs my heart again:  will I be the one God uses?

As I ponder this question, I’m reminded of a song that was released shortly after I graduated from college.  Despite the mullets, big hair, shoulderpads and pegged jeans depicted in the video, the message still challenges me even after all these years…will I be the one God uses?  

The answer is, simply, yes.  May my heart remain yielded, willing, and ready.  Ready to help.  Ready to serve.  Ready to do the work.  Ready to be the one degree of change that can make a difference in the world.

The next year, the two of them decided not to run this same 5K again, but this time with their families.  On this chilly, grey winter morning, they didn’t get up early and meet at Stonebridge United Methodist Church for the American Cancer Society’s 2nd annual Relay for Life Fight Back 5K.

The girl who doesn’t run didn’t stand in line to pick up her son’s registration packet, and she didn’t help him get his bib number attached to the front of his sweatshirt.

Her friends and family didn’t stand in the cold, impatiently waiting for the starting gun’s signal.

When the gun sounded, the girl who doesn’t run started out first.  Knowing that she *really* hadn’t run in over a month, her main concern was simply finishing.  She *really* wasn’t trying for  a personal record, and since last year’s event ended with plantar fasciitis in both feet, she knew she would easily beat her previous time.   But also recognizing the significance of this cause – fighting back against cancer – and having a personal connection to it, she also wanted to push herself…to “fight back” in her own way.  The course was hilly and challenging, every step reminding her why she doesn’t run.  But as she found herself surrounded by other non-runners, she discovered that strength, that desire, that thirst for victory, for personal achievement, for making it count.

So she didn’t push herself to run hard, and she didn’t keep running when she felt like walking, and she certainly didn’t dig deep running up those steep hills.

And when she didn’t cross the finish line at exactly 32:00, it wasn’t a mere 30 seconds off her official PR from last year.  She certainly wasn’t proud of herself.

Her husband wasn’t pumped about the chance to participate in his very first 5K.

And he definitely wasn’t excited to do his victory dance over cancer.

Her family didn’t enjoy the chance to walk/run with friends along the course.

And when they didn’t cross the finish line, they certainly weren’t proud of their accomplishments…or ready for the breakfast of champions at McDonald’s.

In fact, it wasn’t so much fun, they can’t wait to not do it again next year, when perhaps they’ll all be a little better at not running.

After 4 decades of new years, you’d think I’d develop some cynicism.  You’d think I’d have learned from all my past efforts.  You’d think that after living the repetitive cycle of trying and failing, trying and failing, trying and failing innumerable times that I’d be “over it”, that I’d chuck all those good intentions into the trash bin along with last night’s noisemakers and confetti poppers.  And yet, I find myself here, sitting at my computer, dusting off the old blog, somehow believing that it is possible – and even probable – that THIS year becomes the year I finally achieve.

I confess.  Last year, I didn’t even make resolutions. My philosophy for the year was summed up in one word: “REAL”.  My reasons were personal.  The meaning was private.  My goals were simply between me and God, and I can honestly say He brought me to that place of “REAL.”  Through experiences that were painful, humbling, exhilarating and beautiful, God allowed me to become more “REAL” in my relationships with Him and others, in my work and ministry, and in my personal pursuits.

The simplicity of a single word appeals to me.  Amidst all the clutter and busy-ness of my daily life, I like the focus of one word to direct my energies and efforts throughout the year.  One word to hold me accountable.  One word to gauge my progress.  One word to challenge me to step out, yet reign me in.  One word to inspire.  This year’s word is simply: COMMIT.

Commit your activities to the LORD, and your plans will be achieved.  (Proverbs 16:3, HCSB)

In the year 2013, I commit the following activities to the Lord, trusting Him to achieve these plans:

spiritual activities:

This year I was deeply inspired by the book Wild Goose Chase by Mark Batterson.  This book describes the kind of Christ-follower I want to be: free to follow where God leads without being caged by fear or responsibility or guilt or failure, or anything else that Satan uses to try to discourage me.  This year, with God’s help, I commit to reading through the Bible (again), to being part of a Bible study community, to being active in a life group where we can learn and grow and serve as a family, and to downloading and reading the weekly sermon study guides.  I also commit to helping my children establish regular quiet times and exploring how we as a family can incorporate prayer and Bible study into our busy and varied schedules.  And of course, I reaffirm my commitment to leading Moms in Prayer, strengthening the ministry of Promiseland through my role as Worship Director, and supporting the mission of Village of Hope, CASA, and other outreach efforts in the community.

physical activities:

2012 was  a year where I saw many physical goals set and achieved.  In 2013, I reaffirm my commitment to overall health and physical fitness, through developing a workable exercise plan that balances cardio, flexibility and strength training in both group and individual settings.  This year, with God’s help, I will work to finally achieve my goal of running a sub-30′ 5K, a sub-60′ 10K and a half marathon in 2:20 or less.  Through a commitment to healthy eating, I will reach my goal weight and help my children make healthier food choices.

professional activities:

With the incorporation of my studio, God has certainly affirmed His plan for me professionally.  This year, I commit to honoring His leading and direction by working to improve not only my studio, but also myself as a teacher and pianist.  The first step will be to join a local piano teachers’ association and become an active member in their meetings and activities.  In addition, I commit to studying and interacting with other professionals online, organizing my studio, and creating games and activities to strengthen my students’ technique and theory.

personal activities:

Perhaps my biggest – and most ambitious – goal for this year is the fulfillment of a lifelong dream.  This year, I commit to producing a manuscript for publication.  Not on my blog, but on real paper.  Not self-published, but produced through an actual publishing house.  And to anyone who is still reading this blog, I promise a free, autographed first-edition copy.

Some people think 13 is an unlucky number.  But in this “unlucky” year, it’s nice to know I have a sure guarantee.  If I commit these ways to the Lord, and allow Him to accomplish His plan through me, I am assured success.

Those are pretty good odds.

No, no, I’m not referring to the premise of this book.  I’m referring to the nightmare of losing yourself in a book like this, finding yourself swallowed up by the intrigue and heartbreak to the point where you can hardly put the book down and as a result end up staying up late into the night to finish…and then have to be on your “A” game as mom the next day.

Ugh.

But this book truly is about every parent’s worst nightmare…or at least one of them.  Beth Cappadora, a thirty-something mother of three, solidly – if not happily – married, takes her children with her for the weekend of her 15th high school reunion…and her three-year-0ld son vanishes.  Kidnapped.  Gone without a trace, save for the one red shoe that fell off his small foot in the parking lot.

For nearly ten years the search goes on.  Leads grow cold.  Public interest, which was once sky-high, wanes.  Beth finds herself trapped between the mother she needs to be and the mother she can’t be.  We see her relationships fray as friends, family, and even the police detective assigned to her case can’t help her re-engage in life.  Beth simply exists.

All of a sudden, one day, a miracle.  A miracle that would appear to bring a happy ending.  A miracle that would – in theory – make Beth and her family whole once again, emotionally, physically, relationally.

And it is this journey – the journey after the miracle – that makes this book worth reading.  Real life is not often simple.  Relationships are complex and complicated.  Families are never perfect and rarely even functional.  Happy endings, while satisfying in the movies, are far from realistic.

Jacquelyn Mitchard tackles these difficult issues with keen insight.  We ache with Beth over the loss of her son…both the one kidnapped and the one she abandoned.  We champion her marriage and our desire to see it survive, knowing it’s an against-all-odds proposition.  We find ourselves lost with her, vacillating between wanting to slap her across the face and shout “snap out of it!” to wrapping her in a blanket and gently suggesting “take it easy…you’ve been through so much.”

The language is rough, but then so is the subject matter.  There is no solid bedrock of faith, only the hint of anger at a God that would allow such tragedy to occur.   But we are carried through the story as if we are a part of it, and we can understand, even empathize with such reactions.  And in the end, there is no Cinderella story.  Just like life, there is no easy solution, no quick fix, no cure-all.  We’re left – much like the Cappadora family – to find our own solution, to come to our own conclusions, and to find an uneasy peace in the waning storm.

No more homework,

No more books,

No more teacher’s dirty looks!

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.  And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.    Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned andreceived and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you. (Phil. 4:6-9, ESV)

There’s a meme that often floats around Facebook that goes something like “post one word about your day, then copy and paste and I’ll do the same for you.”  I don’t usually participate in memes, but if I did, I could certainly give one word about this day, minus the whole cut-and-paste thing.

Exhilarating.

Emotional.

Humbling.

Exhausting.

Exciting.

Eye-opening.

Beautiful.

All of that in a span of 24 hours.  I assure you, it’s s a day worth reading about.

Our friendly Alpha Rooster again started his wake-up calls at 3:30 AM.  I chose to ignore his persistence and sleep in until 6:45.  The team was up, preparing for their big excursion into Bweyale.   Breakfast was a simple affair as a result:  bread with butter and sugar, and tea.  After breakfast, Rachel brought the team devotions: a simple reminder to bring our requests to God, no matter how great or how small the need.  We then spent some time in prayer for each other.  I prayed specifically for Kristie, knowing she’s got a lot on her heart and mind, and hoping that this trip will be a positive experience for her.

It was then time to load up into the truck for the excursion into town!  I felt, for many reasons, a conviction to stay behind.  Though I couldn’t articulate all the emotions I was feeling, something about that outing just didn’t sit right with me.  With the team’s blessing, I opted to remain at the village.  It ended up working out pretty well, seeing as how the truck barely fit the 9 that went.

Little did I know the lessons I would learn, the divine appointments, the overwhelming sense of God’s presence I would have in the short time the team was gone.

Because I had the time and opportunity, I took a few moments to myself: freshened up a bit, wrote in my journal, spent some time in the beautiful quiet with just me and my thoughts.  Praying.  Processing.  As I was there, Janelle came by and we talked for a few minutes.  She said something funny, so I laughed.  And as I did, one of the myriad of pesky, persistent, pervasive flies FLEW IN MY MOUTH and lodged itself in the back of my throat.

“I just swallowed a fly!”  I managed to croak, as I tried to determine if the darn insect was far enough forward to spit out.

“You swallowed a fly?!?” she asked, a bit surprised to say the least.

Nope.  Too far back to spit out.  GULP.  “Yep.  Just did.”

Maybe I should have gone for the termites on Sunday morning after all.  At least they had a peanutty aftertaste.

Later, over lunch, as we were sharing the story, Janelle commented, “Wasn’t there a song about that?  Something about someone who swallowed a fly.”

Oh yeah.  There was an OLD LADY who swallowed a fly…I don’t know why she swallowed the fly…PERHAPS SHE’LL DIE.  Words of comfort, for sure.  Thanks.  Thanks a lot.

After such a tasty snack, I was ready to get up and do something…away from flies.  According to our handy-dandy “excel spreadsheet” posted in our hut, it was nearly time for the P4 class to head to the library.  I wanted to see the new library, and thought there might be a possibility of helping the teacher during that time, so I headed up to the building…only to discover the library was locked…and no one was inside.  Knowing the bead room was just a few doors down, I decided to wait there, to see if the P4 class was just running a few minutes late.

What I ended up doing was dancing like an elephant.

Let me tell you a story about Americans,” an African Christian friend said to me.

Elephant and Mouse were best friends. One day Elephant said, “Mouse, let’s have a party!” Animals gathered from far and near. They ate. They drank. They sang. And they danced. And nobody celebrated more and danced harder than Elephant.

After the party was over, Elephant exclaimed, “Mouse, did you ever go to a better party? What a blast!”

But Mouse did not answer.
“Mouse, where are you?” Elephant called. He looked around for his friend, and then shrank back in horror.

There at Elephant’s feet lay Mouse. His little body was ground into the dirt. He had been smashed by the big feet of his exuberant friend, Elephant.

“Sometimes, that is what it is like to do mission with you Americans,” the African storyteller commented. “It is like dancing with an Elephant.”  (from The Dangers of Short-Term Missions by Miriam Adeney)

Lillian was there, sitting alone, silently working.  Trinity was back at the houses, being cared for by other mothers and children.  On the table was a tall stack of bowls filled with beads, the result of hours of work yesterday at the hands of Jenna and her cousins as well as the team members who had spent time in the bead room.  Each bowl contained 50 beads hand selected to create a specific, colorful pattern, plus numerous tiny “spacer” beads, so that all Lillian had to do was select a bowl and begin working.

I saw the stack of bowls and got excited…and a little proud.  I wanted to show her *my* bowl.  I wanted Lillian to see *my* pattern that I had created yesterday.  I grabbed the stack of bowls and began lifting one at a time to look through them.  I looked into every single bowl only to discover my pattern wasn’t there.  I mentioned it to Lillian who kindly told me that my beads were probably divided between all the bowls to add some splashes of color to the other patterns.

Disappointed, I set about the task of restacking all the bowls.  I’ve learned that my skills are far inferior to theirs, further evidenced as I looked at the lopsided mess of bowls leaning precariously on the table.  Lillian didn’t seem to mind, but I was embarrassed that I couldn’t make those bowls stack as straight and even as she did, no matter how hard I tried.  She assured me that “it’s okay”, that it didn’t matter, that I hadn’t done anything wrong.

We sat for a few more minutes, and as I realized the P4 class would not be coming to the library after all I decided to go help Grace and Consy at Kindness House before it was time for me to teach the lesson.  As I stood up, I bumped the table – with my foot or leg or hip, I don’t know – and that topsy-turvy stack of bowls went crashing to the floor.  Beads scattered EVERYWHERE.  Bowls bounced on the hard concrete floor, spilling their entire contents, mixing patterns beyond recognition.

Suddenly, I had become Elephant.  My exuberant dancing had killed the mouse.  Tears of shame and embarrassment filled my eyes as I got down on my hands and knees and helplessly tried to recapture all the beads, putting as many as I could back into the bowls, not knowing what the original patterns might have been.  Lillian constantly offered gentle reassurances of “It’s okay, it’s okay” as I crawled all over, finding beads that had rolled clear to the opposite side of the room, under the few shelving units that lined the walls, and nearly out the door.  Humiliated, I realized it was *my* pride, *my* exuberance, *my* self-centeredness that had created this mess.  Despite my best efforts, the end result was pitiful: a few random beads in a few bowls.  All that work from yesterday gone.  All those hours that Kari and Kayla and Victoria and Jenna had spent, digging through piles of beads, sorting handfuls to find just the right one, the right shape and the right color…wasted.  And to make things even worse, I had now made Lillian’s job harder.

“I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry,”  was all I could manage to say, as I blinked back tears.

In her calm and gentle way, Lillian got down on her hands and knees,  looked me straight in the eyes, and with a gracious smile on her face said, “It’s okay.  It’s okay.  These will just be assorted color.  No pattern.”  And she smiled.  Not just with her mouth, but with her whole face.

What grace.  What beautiful, amazing grace!  This quiet and peace-filled mouse, extending such grace to a bumbling elephant like me.  I hugged Lillian tightly. Thank you.  Thank you, sweet Lillian, for being an example of kindness and forgiveness, when I truly don’t deserve it.  Thank you for showing me what God’s grace looks like.

I left the bead room, knowing I had just had experienced God in a new way.  Despite the blow to my pride, my heart was filled with the joy of God’s presence, of knowing He had met me there, of knowing that He had taken the time to inhabit that bead room for a few moments so that I could see His character more clearly.

I had just seen the heart of God through the compassionate smile of a woman named Lillian.

I reached Kindness House as Consy was mopping the sitting room.  I couldn’t tell whether or not she actually *wanted* my help but she welcomed me in and set right about giving me my own “mopper” (towel) and showing me where I could start.  My hamstrings remind me on a regular basis how unhappy they are with my new “hobby”, but I’m definitely noticing better flexibility.  We mopped together, starting with the kitchen, the porch, and then all the way around the perimeter of the house.   Consy would laugh as I tried to keep up with her, almost as if we were racing.  As we finished the last part of the house, Consy surprised me by washing my feet.  Despite my protests – I can do this myself – she gently splashed cool, clean water over my absolutely filthy feet.  She scrubbed and rubbed that red dirt off the tops of my feet and between my toes.   She provided a clean, soft towel for me to stand on when she finished, and then she grabbed my flip flops.  Before I could say “no, don’t bother!” she had washed my shoes, too.  Scrubbed them clean as new, then gently slid my feet in so they wouldn’t get dirtied up.

Again, I was humbled.  Again, I had been served by the very ones I *came* to serve.  I thought of another who also spent some time washing feet.  I understood the disciples’ reaction…No, you will never wash my feet!  Lord, let me do this on my own.  But the King of Kings knelt down and gently splashed the cool water over His disciples’ dusty and filthy feet.  He scrubbed and rubbed the dirt off their calloused and hardened soles.  He dried the muddy places and refreshed the tired spots.

I had once again seen the heart of God through the tender hands of a woman named Consy.

Before I melted into tears yet again, I bid Grace and Consy good-bye and returned to our hut.  My heart was full of emotion, my head was spinning with understanding, but God wasn’t finished yet.  There was at least one more event on His calendar for this day.

With the team gone, the responsibility fell to me to teach both the ESL/science lesson and the Bible lesson.  They weren’t expected to return until lunchtime, which would be after I had completed both lessons.  Jenna, Kari, Kayla and Victoria graciously offered to come and assist, so I gladly accepted their help.  No sooner had we reached the classroom and were setting up the materials than the truck arrived with the team, back from Bweyale.  Even though I had assured the team that I could handle the lesson on my own, I thought a few of them might come to assist as well.  I was a little surprised – and honestly a little disappointed – when no one did.  But I realized that allowing myself to be angry at any of them was unfair – Ididsay I could handle it, after all – so I prayed.  I prayed that God would release me from any feelings of negativity toward any of my teammates, any anger or hurt, and that nothing would stand in the way of sharing His truth with these children.  God honored that prayer, more than I ever expected Him to.

Simply put, the lesson was amazing.  Since the P5 class had already received the lesson on taste, Elizabeth and I agreed that I would teach them the lesson on sight.  While the activities were fun and engaging – and hopefully they learned something in the process – the real highlight came in the Bible lesson.

I had been given the lesson on Our Identity in Christ – Love.  I chose to read the book Adam, Adam, What do You See? which had been given to Trey when he was very young and was one of our family favorites.  I planned to share just a bit about each Bible character – speaking specifically to how God demonstrated His love toward them.

Adam, Adam, what do you see?  I see creation all around me…

God demonstrated amazing love toward Adam by allowing him to be the one to name all the animals, to be the first man ever created, and to live in the amazing perfection of the Garden of Eden.

Noah, Noah, what do you see?  I see animals in the ark with me…

God loved Noah so much that he spared Noah’s life – and the lives of his wife, their three sons, and their wives – from the worldwide flood that wiped out all creation.  God taught Noah exactly how to build the ark, kept him safe from the rain, and made sure he had enough food for himself, his family, and all the animals.

And then I got to Abraham.

Abraham, Abraham, what do you see?  I see a starry sky blinking at me…

I was reminded of Rich Mullins’ song, “Sometimes by Step”, where he says, “Sometimes I think about Abraham…how one star he sawhad been lit for me.”  I nearly fell apart.  Each one of these precious children represents a star that Abraham saw that night.  Each one of them is a fulfillment of God’s promise to make Abraham’s descendents as numerous as the stars in the sky.  Those stars represent the light of their lives…lives that were ordained by God long before they were ever born.  And just as God loved Abraham and gave him that promise, God loves us as the fulfillment of that promise.  I wished I could have opened up my heart right then and there and showed them how desperately I want them to understand their value to their Creator.  How much God loves them and the great things He has planned for them.  How each one of them has the potential to become a modern-day hero of the faith, like Moses, and David, and Sampson, and Mary, and Ruth, and Peter, and Paul.  How much I want them to *know* His hope, live in the light of His love, and be secure in His care.  Several times I felt tears squeeze out of the corner of my eyes as I felt God speaking through me, literally putting the words in my mouth…words of hope and encouragement and promise.

By the time I finished the book, I was shaking.  My heart was racing and my hands were sweaty.  I could hardly stand still, though my knees were weak and my legs felt like jello.  I can only hope and pray that God spoke to someone…that His words touched one heart…made a difference in one life.

It was lunchtime by the time I finished, so I bid the class farewell, thanked Kayla, Kari, Jenna, and Victoria for their help, and headed back.  Though I desperately needed some alone time, the schedule didn’t allow for it.  We ate lunch quickly, washed up the few dishes we could, and headed back to the school building to teach the P3/P4 classes.

We met in the new school building with the combined classes.

Because these students are at a lower level, their English proficiency isn’t quite as strong.  Teacher James acted as our interpreter, so everything took a little bit longer.  We did the lesson on sight with them as well.   They didn’t have notebooks with them so they drew their diagrams in more interesting places.

While we were teaching, the little ones from the bead room next door crept up to the doorway.  They wanted to hear the stories and be a part of what the big kids were doing.  And any chance to be with the muzungas is worth taking.

Ryan brought the Bible lesson.  He used the book that I had used, but it wasn’t the same.  I didn’t really expect it to be.

Nevertheless, he did a great job.  He makes the Bible truths very real to these kids.

Elizabeth and I had to slip out a few minutes early to be on time for the P1/P2 lesson.  Thankfully, the teachers were there and ready to interpret.  The children arrived a few at a time until we had a group of about 15 students eager to learn.  I had gotten so used to teaching teenagers that I had forgotten what a joy it is to teach the little ones.  Their bright eyes and shy smiles are so endearing.  And they love Love LOVE learning.

It’s absolutely necessary to have an interpreter for this level.  These children are taught in Acholi almost exclusively.  As much as I hated to make the teachers work during their afternoon time off, it was worth it.  They thoroughly enjoyed our lesson and had fun with the activities we did.

After school, I spent some time with a precious little girl named Mercy.

A teammate of mine from my last trip had told me about Mercy, about her beautiful face and sweet personality and quiet but fun-loving nature.  As soon as I met her for the first time, I understood what makes Mercy so special.  We sat and talked for a bit, and I took a video for my friend.  And then we took a picture of our crazy faces.

After awhile, Mercy told me, “I would like to leave now”, so I went up to Faith House and Love House to see the girls before supper.  We laughed and I looked through piles and piles of their schoolwork.

Dusk settled in, the signal for our suppertime.  We sat around the campfire as we ate our beans, posho and spaghetti.  I was a bit overwhelmed with the day, so I enjoyed being more of an observer.  I also realized that at this time next week we will be in London, far from this place and these precious people.  We will be in a whole different world from where we are now.  I can’t even begin to think about that, yet I can’t wait to be with my own family, loving on my own children, sharing life with my own husband.  So many things about this trip are relatively “easy”…but that’s one part that never ceases to be difficult.  Separating from my “stuff”, from my busy schedule, from my crazy life is almost a welcome change.  But separating from those I love so much, those that are a part of my flesh and blood…that’s hard.

We returned to our gaming ways to finish the night – a rousing game of Bananagrams under the headlamps.  We have a very small table and not much light, and lots of bugs that hover around, but despite the challenges it was a lot of fun.  Janelle and Jenna joined us and impressed us with their unique strategies.

As I reflect on this day, I know this will be one I won’t easily forget.  The moments and memories of this day have been etched deep within me.  The lessons I’ve learned, the experiences I’ve had have given me a new perspective…and a new passion.  I may have begun the day dancing like an elephant, but I ended the day dancing – joyously, gratefully, andgrace-fully – in my heart before my King.

No mice were harmed in the performing of that dance.

While walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen.   And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”  Immediately they left their nets and followed him.   Matthew 4:18-20

Click here to view the embedded video.

What He says we will do…

Where He sends we will go…

NEVER FEAR, only trust and obey!

The boys left fairly early this morning for a “guys road trip” of sorts.  Mike, having just returned from 6 weeks in the States, is still catching up on the state of the village and had some miscellaneous errands to run in Gulu Town.  He thought the guys might enjoy joining him on his adventure, as well as having the opportunity to visit the Bobi property, site of Village #2.  Because of the drive time – 3 or 4 hours each way – and the need for an early start, breakfast was light:  bread with butter and sugar, and tea or coffee.  Knowing I’d need more than that to make it through until lunchtime, I supplemented with some raisins in the hut.  Unfortunately, Winnie beat me to washing the dinner dishes from last night (they don’t wash dishes in the dark), and by the time I finished breakfast she was nearly done with the rest, so I decided to be sure to be early to wash the lunch dishes.

Lindsey brought the morning devotional for just us girls.  She simply shared part of her faith journey from the last couple of years.  The lesson that resonated with me was this: I have already told you what to do.  Just obey.

Just obey.

Two simple words, but with a depth of meaning that is almost impossible to comprehend.  Two simple words, but with a cost of completion that is almost impossible to measure.  Two simple words to say, but not so simple to do.

Just obey.

For the past 6 years, that has been the call over my life and the cry of my heart.  My God, I *want* to obey.  I don’t want to live my life *my* way.  I want to follow YOUR way.  I want to walk in YOUR path.  I want to experience YOUR blessing and YOUR favor.  But it’s hard.  And I’m scared…scared of what it will cost me…what it will cost my family.  Lindsey’s devotional this morning struck a chord deep within me, a powerful reminder to obey God regardless of whether or not I understand, of whether or not I can make sense of what He is asking me to do.

All He wants is for me to trust…and obey.

We had some logistical issues to handle this morning related to our teaching schedule, so I wasn’t able to go help with chores at Kindness House this morning.  Trace, Kristi, and I headed to the school office to discuss with Denis or Irene.  Along the way, we met students heading to the latrines and each time, they would stop completely, oftentimes kneeling down on the ground, until we are past.  It’s unusual to experience this level of respect and deference, especially considering we are “visitors”, but it is an honor to be treated this way.

While we were meeting with Denis, I had the opportunity to check out the school office.  What an amazing transformation has taken place here in the past two years – talk about an extreme makeover!  What used to be a completely empty room, with the exception of a table and chair, is now a fully functioning office and resource/reference room.  Floor-to-almost-ceiling bookshelves create “offices”, and the backs of the bookshelves are decorated with important schedules, curriculum notes, and other pertinent information.  Textbooks and reference books fill the shelves, along with school supplies and resource materials.  It’s certainly a far cry from most American schools, but considering what it looked like the last time I was here, the difference is staggering.

We then wandered up to the bead room, which was my first time to be there.  Kari, Victoria, Jenna and Kayla had been there most of yesterday, unstringing beads.  Today, they were there again, sorting beads into patterns to make into necklaces or bracelets.

They were very gracious in allowing us to try our hands at creating patterns: 50 beads per bowl is what is needed for a necklace or bracelet.  These bowls are what the mothers use to create their jewelry.

Their little ones stay close beside.  Despite being only two or three years old, they don’t wander far, don’t behave like terrors, and love to “help”.  Trinity was proud to show me how old she is.

We couldn’t stay long, as we were scheduled to teach the P4 class before lunch.  We chose to use the lesson on taste, and knowing it required the most assistance, we asked all the girls to join us for this session.  I had found a GREAT book to use, titled Chameleon’s Crazy Colors, and had a great time reading the story to them.

We had brought our own version of “taste testing”, using four different items to demonstrate the four tastes on the tongue.  We passed out q-tips for and let the students dip one end into Solution #1.

They were quite relieved to discover it was sugar water.  Solution #2 brought mixed reactions, as it was salt water.  Very warm and VERY salty.

And then came our personal favorite…the cocoa powder.  These kids thought they were in for a real treat when they saw it, immediately thinking “chocolate”.  What a surprise for them when that chocolate turned out to be bitter!

We finished the lesson with a bit hit: Sour Patch candies.  After their surprise with the bitter chocolate, we had a few that were a bit nervous.  As it turned out, the candies were nearly a unanimous favorite.

Because the boys were out doing some male bonding, Ryan wasn’t there to deliver the Bible lesson.  Kristie stepped up and offered to teach in his place.

As Kristie taught, Careenna wrote the Bible verses on the board.  I love the way this team works together and supports one another!

I sat next to Rabbit during the Bible lesson.  I helped her write the verses in her notebook and listened as she answered the questions Kristie was asking.  At one point, Kristie talked about God’s love for us, and the object(s) of our affection.  She pointedly asked, “Who do you love?”  Jacinta looked at me and said, “You love Rabbit!”  It was all I could do not to burst out laughing.  Instead, I gave her a big hug.  I sure do, Jacinta.  If you only knew how much.  I wish you could see inside my heart and know how deeply and truly I love you.

We concluded our lesson and headed back to our dining area for lunch.  I loaded up my plate with posho only to discover there was also RICE.  I’m learning to like posho, but given a choice, I’ll take rice over posho any day of the week and twice on Sunday.  C’est la vie.  I piled on the beans and cabbage Uganda-style and managed not to be too disappointed.

Thankfully, we had *lots* of dishes to wash after lunch.  I’m secretly wondering if Winnie hid a few and saved them back for us.  It’s possible God multiplied the dirty dishes much like He multiplied those loaves and fishes that time.  I mean, if He can make enough food to feed 5,000 hungry men, it’s altogether possible He could also create just as many dirty bowls and cups.  Regardless, Kristie and I had the opportunity to have some good conversation, real and meaningful, as we cleaned what appeared to be an endless supply of plastic dishes.  God certainly knew we needed an excuse to talk just a bit longer, to communicate on a deeper level than just at the surface.  As hard as it is sometimes to realize the age difference that exists between me and the majority of this team, as hard as it is to face the reality of how I must be perceived – I have more in common with most of theirparents than I do with them – I am humbled when my teammates seek my counsel and advice.  It’s an odd place to be, realizing that because of my age, life stage, and “experience”, people look up to me.  I only hope and pray that the counsel I give is wise and godly, because I certainly don’t see myself that way.

Our afternoon teaching session was a doozy – the P5 and P7 classes combined for a joint lesson.  These classes are big to begin with…with big kids in them…and to have two together meant moving up to a much larger space.  We met in the new – and as yet unused – secondary school building.  We read the book to them…

…and did the taste-testing demonstration again.  I’m deeply sorry we didn’t get video of Teacher Constantine’s reaction to the bitter cocoa powder.  It was, in a word, epic.  I’m sure the children arestill laughing over how we fooled him.  I know I am.

We taught them the same song we’d taught the P4 class earlier that day, a little ditty about keeping your tongue from evil:

Keep your tongue from evil, keep your tongue

Keep your tongue from evil, keep your tongue

And your lips from speaking lies

Keep your tongue from evil, keep your tongue.

As we sang, some of the older kids in the back started beating on their desks.  Soon, others started joining in.  It was impossible to stop!  We sang over and over with the rhythm pushing us onward.  I realized right then and there we were singing words straight from scripture…straight from the book of Proverbs.  Wise words for wise living.  The Spirit of the Living God was meeting us right there, breathing God’s words into our hearts, searing His truth in our minds and in our hearts.  In the midst of a nation torn apart by corruption and deceit, these children were singing a prayer over their own lives, whether they realized it or not: a prayer of commitment to truth and honesty, to integrity and character.  I can only pray that God will bring these words back to them in those moments of need, that these children will rise up to be the instruments of change their country so desperately needs.

Elizabeth and I snuck out of the Bible lesson a few minutes early so we could be on time to teach the P1/P2 classes.  Unfortunately, there was a communication breakdown and we ended up – once again – with no children to teach and no translator to assist.  We ended up going back to Kindness House, where the house mothers and P1/P2 children begged us to teach them “American dance”…you know “to the right, to the right, to the left, to the left”…

So once again, out came Rachel’s ipod and speakers and we started doing the Cupid Shuffle.

There were a few brave house mothers who chose to join us.

Pretty soon, we had attracted a crowd.  But most were content to just watch *us* dance.

So we did.  Over and over and over.

We went out to the football field where the bigger kids were playing American football, including this one wearing a shirt I bought for Crisana on my first trip to Uganda three years ago.

This boy – this picture – represents so much of my mission trip experience.  It’s almost impossible to put into words.  As I look at him wearing a girl’s shirt – a 6-year-old girl’s shirt, no less – my heart hurts.  It hurts because I know he has so little.  It hurts because I know he has worn this shirt three days in a row.  It hurts because he LOVES this shirt…is grateful to have it…doesn’t complain about it being too small or too girly or too whatever.  It hurts because he could care less about what the shirt looks like.  It hurts because I see joy just spilling out of him.  It hurts because I know…I’m not like that.  I look at my closet and I am ashamed.  I look at my dresser drawers, jammed full with clothes I will never wear, clothes I don’t even need, and I am ashamed.  I look in my house, filled with stuff, most of which I don’t need, don’t use, and don’t even like, and I am ashamed.  Embarrassed.  I look at my heart, a heart that complains about the stuff I have – it’s not nice enough, it’s not good enough, it’s not…enough – and I am more than ashamed.  Oh, God…help me to be content with the too-much I have.  Forgive me for my ungratefulness.  Open my eyes to ways I can be a better steward of the abundance you have given me.  Let me be satisfied with enough.

At this point, my heart was overwhelmed.  I needed some time to process, to think, to “be still.”  As I headed back to our dining hut to sit for a while, I met Patricia on the road.  She handed me a letter…the first one I’ve received on this trip.  And as I later discovered when I had the opportunity to read it, a real treasure.

I read the passion and praise in her letter, praise I’m certain I don’t deserve.  To think that she sees me this way…as such a blessing in her life when I have done so little for her…I can’t even fathom that.  But I’ve tucked her letter away in a safe place for that day, that day when those negative voices are just a bit too loud, too real.  I’ll pull that letter out and know: somewhere in a village in northwest Uganda, there’s a girl who thinks I’m pretty special.  Maybe she’s right.

There was a small group in the dining hut, mostly boys hanging out with Jon and fooling around on the guitar.

Morris picked up the guitar and began to play.  This guy just oozes cool.  In the midst of a village where children wear mismatched clothes and boys wear girls’ clothes (and vice versa), Morris stands out.  He manages to look good no matter what he wears.  He has a smile that could pierce through the darkest African night.  His heart is kind and tender.  He is polite and respectful and helpful.  He is physically strong and very athletic.  He can hold his own on the keyboard.  And, as if all that weren’t enough, he can play guitar!  Mike calls him a go-to guy, someone the other boys look up to.  He is the real deal.

I’m so grateful God has given the village young men like Morris.  With no fathers to speak of, the younger boys depend on the older ones to show them what it means to be a man.  Morris is an amazing role model.  He certainly inspires me.

And then there’s Pasquale.  I love this guy.  He thought it was funny that I would take a picture of him taking a picture of me taking a picture of him.  Or something like that.

What a day this has been.  A day of truly “tasting and seeing” that the Lord is good…teaching me, inspiring me, humbling me, using me. Blessed is the (wo)man who puts her trust in Him.

Yes.  I am blessed.

The human body has many parts, but the many parts make up one whole body. So it is with the body of Christ. ¹³ Some of us are Jews, some are Gentiles, some are slaves, and some are free. But we have all been baptized into one body by one Spirit, and we all share the same Spirit.

Yes, the body has many different parts, not just one part.  If the foot says, “I am not a part of the body because I am not a hand,” that does not make it any less a part of the body.  And if the ear says, “I am not part of the body because I am not an eye,” would that make it any less a part of the body?  If the whole body were an eye, how would you hear? Or if your whole body were an ear, how would you smell anything?

But our bodies have many parts, and God has put each part just where he wants it.  How strange a body would be if it had only one part!  Yes, there are many parts, but only one body.  1 Corinthians 12:12-20, NLT

When I awoke this morning – to the exuberant sounds of Mr. Alpha Rooster at 3AM and the mournful howls of lovesick Tiger dog – I wouldn’t have considered this to be a special day.  In fact, it felt very much like a typical Monday. You mean I gotta get up??  NOW??!?  C’mon, just let me sleep until SEVEN!  Ten more minutes!!

Sure enough, I finally crawled down from my upper-bunk perch at around 7, quickly threw on some only-somewhat-dirty clothes, grabbed my Bible and my journal, and headed out to our dining area.  I always enjoy these few minutes I have to myself before breakfast.  Though there may be others out there, no one is expected to say much more than i buto maber (good morning, literally “how was your night?”)  or respond with atye maber (“I am ok”).  We sit in silence with only the incessant buzzing of the swarms of flies to disturb our peace.  This is my solitude: watching the sun rise over the trees, the morning mist hovering just above the grass, the cool air a refreshing change from the staleness of our hut and the stifling mosquito netting.  Each morning feels like a miracle, the dawning of new possibilities that excites a new awakening inside to the adventures ahead.

We had our usual breakfast of french toast and tea or coffee, and Ryan brought our team devotions.  He read the passage above and reminded us of the important role and specific purpose that each of us fills on this  team.  I can testify that I have seen the team really pull together on this trip.  Each person seems to have a well-defined role and space that only he or she can fill.  With the addition of Jenna and her 3 cousins, I was concerned how that might affect our team dynamic, and if they would easily find roles to fill.  But they fit right in, being the same age and life stage as the majority of our team, and add a new dimension with their unique skills and abilities.

Once breakfast was cleaned up and dishes were washed, I headed up to Kindness House to help Grace and Consy with their morning chores.  Of course, Rachel and Mary were there with their darling smiles and charming personalities to greet me.

I could seriously pack them up and take them home with me.  They literally just sparkle together.  I caught them singing, and my heart just absolutely melted.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Seriously, how precious is THAT??!?!

I mopped the house – I do believe my hamstrings will be much longer and stronger by the end of the week – and I do believe I am getting better and making progress in my skills.  I will probably never have the long, graceful legs that Consy and Grace do, and will probably never be able to make mopping look as simple and effortless as they do, but if I can get to the point where my legs aren’t screaming at me, I would be satisfied with that.

Grace then gave me a HUGE surprise: she actually let me help her cook!  I started by chopping the onions.

They’re red onions, but much smaller than what we’re used to, about the size of a large clove of garlic.  Kristie had helped with the mopping, so she got to assist with the cooking, too, chopping tomatoes.

While we were working the girls came up for breakfast, and I had an opportunity to snag a picture as we ate our porridge together.

Once the onions were chopped, the breakfast dishes were washed, and the girls were headed back to school, I received another BIG surprise.  Grace let me COOK the vegetables!  She showed me how to heat the oil – over a wood fire, mind you – and stir the onions, add the tomatoes, and put it all in the beans.

I showed this picture to George, the office administrator/foreman of the construction crew this picture to prove I had been working and cooking.  He claims I was posing.  I can assure you, I was working, because unfortunately, I think the onions got a bit overcooked.  I hope I didn’t burn them, and I really hope they tasted okay.

After that debacle, Grace informed me there was nothing left for me to do to help.  I ended up hanging out with Rachel and Mary, who introduced me to baby Lamaro, which means “beautiful one.”  I definitely agree.

That old phrase “it takes a village” takes on new meaning here.  While the mothers are busy with their chores, the children actually take care of one another, all under the watchful eyes of mothers and “aunties”…and muzungas like me.

Little Lamaro is a good baby, and a real cutie, even if she doesn’t quite understand what to do with this pale, white-skinned muzunga.

Even in Africa, little girls like to play “mommy”…but their dolls are real.

While I was playing with Rachel and Mary and picking seeds out of the rice, a woman stopped by Kindness House.  Her name is Christine and she lives in one of the nearby villages.  From what I could understand she comes by a few times a week to sell milk from her cows – or goats, I’m not sure which.  She spoke Acholi and French, but through a translator complimented me on my “nice legs”.  Apparently cankles are very fashionable in Uganda these days.  Anyone who says I have nice legs is automatically on my BFF list, so of course I had to take a picture.

All too soon it was lunchtime.  We at our posho, rice, beans & cabbage and I helped Winnie wash the dishes afterward with Kristie.  I know it bothers her that no one else volunteers to help, but I realized something today that has made all the difference.  Call it a “life lesson.”  Call it an “aha moment.”   Call it a “Little Debbi Sermonette: It’s like a snack cake for your soul.”  Call it an epiphany.  Call it an apostrophe.  Whatever you choose to call it, the bottom line is this:  You can’t be upset with others for not heeding *your* call.  God called *me*…God laid this on *my* heart…God asked *me* to serve in this manner.  It doesn’t matter if no one else joins me, because if I do the job God called *me* to do, no one else is needed!  It only takes one…and God will equip that one, even if the job is washing cups and dirty forks in a large orange bucket in a remote village in the middle of Africa.

I had some time after washing dishes to shower – African style – and put on some “not-yet-dirty” clothes.  Elizabeth helped prepare the vocabulary cards for this lesson – our lesson on the sense of touch.  The students were very eager to come and explore the items in the touch bags…

…but were either too embarrassed or shy or unsure of themselves to try to describe it to the class.

We tried a few more times, but the result was always the same.

The book I had chosen to read to them was The Jacket I wear in the Snow.  Although jackets are common here – believe it or not, it does get chilly at night – snow is a concept they can’t even begin to imagine.  I know.  I grew up in South Florida and never saw snow until I was nearly 18 years old.  Even then, I was surprised to discover snow is COLD.  And WET.  So I know how these kids must think about snow.   Concepts like mittens, scarves, long underwear…I wondered how well they would comprehend.

And then, of course, there’s the mother in the story.  First of all, the child has one.  A real, living, breathing mother.  What’s more, this mother is caring and compassionate.  And to top it all off, she not only soothes her wounded child, but brings her in from the cold, comforts her, and cares for her.  I didn’t know what kind of response this might elicit. Would this bring painful memories?  Would the mere mention of “mother” upset them?  Would this cause them grief?

I spent some time in private prayer before this lesson and as I read the book.  I wanted the children to remain engaged in our activities, to hear the Bible truths, and learn about their wonderfully created bodies, modeled after their Creator.  My fears and anxieties were all for naught.  The children LOVED the book.  They caught on to the rhythm and pattern quickly and enjoyed reciting it with me…this is the scarf, wooly and red, that matches the stocking cap for my head…  They were interested in learning about these strange clothes and noted the texture words…itchy, warm, scratchy, bunchy, hot…that mimicked some of the clothes that they wear.

We had to cut out some of our activities due to time and other constraints, but made sure to include our Bible verse and song.  We taught them Ephesians 2:10 about being God’s workmanship and the song “Isn’t He Wonderful”, which they loved.  These provided a natural segue into Ryan’s Bible lesson.  I hope and pray that these truths are sinking deep into their hearts.  I want them to know – not just in their heads, but in their hearts – how deeply they are loved, how utterly precious they are to their Creator, and what wonderful plans He has in store for their lives.

After school and chores, I had the opportunity to visit with Linda and some other girls from Kindness House.  Linda in particular wanted her picture taken in non-school clothes.  She had dressed in one of her nicest tops and a matching skirt for the occasion.  I could tell, she wanted to look pretty…and she did.

I wanted to be sure to get that whole message in the picture. Someday I will send this photo to her with a letter, and I want her to see herself standing in front of that promise.  I want it to be as if God is saying to her, Linda, my child, ALL things are possible.  Stick with Me, and you’ll see.  I promise…and I’ve always been true to My word.

As is always the case, just like with Lay’s potato chips, you can’t have just one.  More pictures were in order.  They told me exactly who to put together and arranged themselves exactly they way they wanted the photo shoot to look.

They always want to hold the camera.  My batteries were starting to wear down, so I have learned to start saying “no” to them.  I do let them look at themselves afterward.  Hearing their giggles when they see themselves on camera is priceless.

I don’t believe there is anyone in the village with a brighter, more dazzling smile than Proscovia (on the left).  Just look at those pearly whites!

I had to get one of her by herself.  That smile, that beautiful face, brightened my day every time I saw it.  And then, just because I’m a ham, I had to get in on the action…but only for ONE photo.

Rachel and Mary, my two precious shadows, were never far away.  And just like the big kids, they wanted a picture of themselves next to the sign.  I was only too happy to oblige.

We went out to the football fields so the big girls could play American football.  Rachel and Mary wanted to play, too, but were much too small to hold their own against those big boys.  So we took some time to play “Ring Around the Rosy” together, and although they had no idea what the words were, they thoroughly enjoyed the part about all-fall-DOWN!!  They caught on to that one pretty quickly.  We had a few other half-pints join us before my rash became too itchy for me to continue.

Careenna and Kristie took over for me so I could get out of the grass.  I took the opportunity to clean up at our hut and as I was preparing the campfire area for dinner, I looked up and saw this approaching:

I *so* remember doing this for my own children when they were about the same size.  And just like my children, Rachel and Mary begged “again!  Again!”  with great big huge grins on their faces.  Such childlike joy.  Such unabashed exuberance…toward others, toward life.  These two bring such joy to my heart, and remind me about everything that is good and wonderful about being a mom.

After dinner, rather than playing games, the group gathered under the dining shelter and Victoria brought out her guitar and began leading an impromptu worship session.  The past few days have seen some negativity creeping in to our little group, whether it be personality conflicts or personal struggles or even attitudes displayed in some of our games that we’ve played, so I viewed this as a real opportunity for us to refocus and renew our spirits.  I sat with the group, but listened more than I sang.  I needed some time to process through the emotions and experiences of the past few days, to let my heart catch up with my mind, to allow my spirit and body to realign.  It’s been a fast and furious pace, and I needed some time just to “be still.”  I was greatly encouraged just listening to the passion of a younger generation rising up to praise His name…knowing that the very I AM that I worship is still the same God today, still on His throne, still drawing people to His kingdom and to His purpose.  It was a wonderful reminder to me that though we are on this journey together, we are also on our own individual journeys.  God is working in and through each of us uniquely, to shape us distinctly to be more like Him, to allow us to be the specific tool He desires to use to reach the world for His sake.

And if that means He wants me to be a big toenail in the body of Christ, I’m totally cool with that.

‘Therefore all who devour you will be devoured;
And all your adversaries, every one of them, will go into captivity;
And those who plunder you will be for plunder,
And all who prey upon you I will give for prey.
‘For I will restore you to health
And I will heal you of your wounds,’ declares the LORD,
‘Because they have called you an outcast, saying:
“It is Zion; no one cares for her.”’

And they entered and took possession of it. But they did not obey your voice or walk in your law. They did nothing of all you commanded them to do. Therefore you have made all this disaster come upon them.  Behold, the siege mounds have come up to the city to take it, and because of sword and famine and pestilence the city is given into the hands of the Chaldeans who are fighting against it. What you spoke has come to pass, and behold, you see it. Yet you, O Lord GOD, have said to me, “Buy the field for money and get witnesses”—though the city is given into the hands of the Chaldeans.’”    The word of the LORD came to Jeremiah:  Behold, I am the LORD, the God of all flesh. Is anything too hard for me?  Therefore, thus says the LORD: Behold, I am giving this city into the hands of the Chaldeans and into the hand of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, and he shall capture it. The Chaldeans who are fighting against this city shall come and set this city on fire and burn it, with the houses on whose roofs offerings have been made to Baal and drink offerings have been poured out to other gods, to provoke me to anger. For the children of Israel and the children of Judah have done nothing but evil in my sight from their youth. The children of Israel have done nothing but provoke me to anger by the work of their hands, declares the LORD.  Jeremiah 30:16-17, 31:21-30

Sundays are unique at the village.  For one thing, there is no work – of any kind – being done.  No construction, no building, no fixing.  Children have minimal chores, and the kitchen staff still cooks meals, but it is truly a day of rest.  Some of the staff and teachers leave the village for the weekend, going home to be with their families or spend time with friends and relatives.  Things are quiet, relaxed, unhurried.

My sleepover with Susan went just as well as with Franka.  Again, my “half” of the bed shrunk as the night progressed, and my whole body ached from sleeping on one side with my back pinned against the wall…but I loved every precious minute of it.  Even though I should be exhausted and famished, God provides me with strength each day to endure and truly enjoy the experiences here.  As the girls at Love House got out of bed and started their day, Susan kept telling me, “You go back to sleep” as if she were my own personal snooze button.  Finally, I had to get up.  She walked me home before returning to complete her morning chores.  As we walked out the door, I noticed large white wings, 2″-3″ long, scattered all over the porch, steps and all along the walkway.  As hard as I tried, I couldn’t find the bugs that were supposed to be attached to those wings, which made me just a little nervous.

We enjoyed a smaller breakfast of french toast and tea or coffee, since the bananas were now all gone.  The french toast is a rarity for me – something my kids won’t eat at home, though I have no idea why – super delicious with some butter and a sprinkle of raw sugar.   Mike returned from his morning run with an extra-special treat.

You know all those wings we saw on our morning trek back from Love House?  This is what was attached to them.  These little critters, which were very much alive, are known as “white ants”…also called termites.  And – according to Mike, the staff, the children, and the locals – are a delicious, high-protein snack.  Just pop ‘em in your mouth by the handfuls, and swallow.  They only swarm twice a year, so take advantage.

Rachel and Careenna were the only ones that Mike could coerce into trying them.  Rachel tossed one in her mouth, just like that…

…and swallowed it, no big deal.

Mmmm, tastes like peanuts.  Peanuts that have little legs and squirm in your mouth and eat trees.  Mike claims the real treat is when you discover their queen.   I’ll take his word for it.

Because of church, we didn’t have a team devotional, so we had extra time to prepare ourselves for church.  I had offered my dress to Careenna, since she forgot to bring a skirt.  I knew I had an extra dress – though a little big for me now – in the suitcase of donated clothes that I could wear.  At the clothes distribution yesterday, though, Trace found that dress and held it up for Rose to see, exclaiming, “Oh, Rose!  This looks just like you!!”  Rose, with her characteristic big smile on her face, took it and immediately tried it on over her clothes.  Yes, in fact, it looked as though it were made just for her.  I knew at that moment there was no way I could ask to borrow the dress back.  I had to tell Careenna I needed my dress after all, but she could use my tie-dye as a sort of wraparound skirt.  With a little help from all of us, and her incredible sense of style, she managed to pull it off as if it was what she had intended all along.  Of course, the kids were a bit curious as to why her skirt had their names written all over  it….

When it was time, we headed up to the chapel building for the church service.  It was crowded, with all the children there plus the house mothers and their babies, the teachers and their spouses and children, the staff who had stayed for the weekend with their little ones, and the muzungas.  As a way of honoring “the visitors”, the children brought in benches for us to sit on, but everyone else sat on the floor or on grass mats.  Many of the children wore their new clothes for the first time.  I even recognized a few articles of clothing.

Teacher Denis preached and Pastor David interpreted.  Vicky (the “shorty-shorty one”) and Lillian acted as worship leaders for the service .  The singing was loud and joyful and full of dancing.  Scovia led the singing – she has a real heart for it, and although she’s shy she is quite a good leader.  Denis spoke from the two passages above in Jeremiah.  His style was to go verse by verse with explanation and application.  Between the heat and lack of good sleep, I found it hard to stay focused and pay attention.

Following church, we headed back to our hut and changed into “play clothes.”  The children also returned to their homes to finish chores and prepare lunch.  Our plan was to reschedule the flag football tournament for today since it was rained out yesterday, but Sunday afternoons are also a time for dancing.

Not really having anything to do, I spent some time wandering from house to house, visiting but not wanting to be in the way.  I was feeling restless and though I could have written in my journal I didn’t want to sit still.

We had been told that the dancing would begin around 2, after lunch.  We showed up at 2, but of course nothing was ready.  I sat in the grass for a bit, visiting with Rabbit, Lindsey and a few other friends.

After awhile my back couldn’t take it any more so I went up and got a few chairs for us to sit on.  Mike and Janelle brought their grass mat and some chairs and I had the opportunity to visit with them while we waited.  Many of the children played “Red Rover” – a “fruit that remained” from my last trip – but they play with such force that I am actually afraid to be part of it.

Finally, around 3:30, the dancing started.

Each dance tells a story.  Mike and Janelle have learned some of the “stories” behind certain dances and I enjoyed hearing what some of those stories were.  After a few dances, the children always like to pull in the muzungas to join them.  Jon got to dance to the rhythm of his own drum.

I had been told – repeatedly – by both the girls in Love House and Hope House that I would be “required” to dance with them, but when the time came no one invited or asked.  I was a little surprised, but keeping the perspective that it’s not really about me helped me to be able to enjoy watching those that did participate.

They danced for about an hour, and though you’d think they’d be worn out, they were ready to keep going!  We hurried to get the children into teams for the flag football tournament.  We had 10 teams total, with close to 20 on each, and were only able to play 3 games.  So 4 teams had to watch from the sidelines.  I was ref for our game, with Ryan acting as QB and Trace as scorekeeper.  I named my team the Cowboys.  Gotta represent, that’s what I was thinking.

We discovered quickly that the “only grab the flag of the person with the ball” rule was going to be a challenge for them to understand.  The first play from scrimmage we had flags being held up all over the field.  Needless to say, the actual player with the ball ran, untouched, from one end of the field to the other, scoring easily.  Just like in America, the Cowboys were down early.

Then we discovered that the “only grab the flag of the person with the ball” rule created a different sort of challenge.  As in “don’t pull DOWN the pants of the person whose flag you’re grabbing”.  There were a few, um, shall we say interesting moments when players got a bit more of a view than they expected.

There was also the issue of staying within the boundaries.  More often than not, our players ended up running outside the lines into the game on the adjacent field, or their players ended up being mixed in with ours.  Regardless, with a “no pass” rule, and only one player allowed to handle the ball per play, our match ended up being very close.

After about an hour, I was done.  I admit it.  I was tired, itchy, and thirsty.  The little kids were frustrated by the competitive-ness of the big kids.  The big kids were frustrated because we weren’t letting them pass the ball, like other refs were.  Before tempers really flared up, I decided it was time to call it quits and let things cool down.  After downing a bottle of water, and a good rubdown below the knees with some baby wipes, I felt much better.  Dinner, campfire, prep, and evening worship…it felt good to be back in the routine again.

As I crawled into bed tonight, I saw something that made me very unhappy…a large, red, welty, itchy rash has formed on my left leg, around my knee.  It looks a lot like poison ivy.  The last time I got poison ivy – on my left leg, no less -  it ended up turning into this in a matter of days:

This mess ended up spreading to my right leg as well:

And yes, it was every bit as gross and painful and itchy in person as it looks in these pictures.  Official diagnosis? Cellulitis and staph infection caused by poison ivy.  Last summer, it was “poison oak” – another red, swollen, itchy flesh-eating rash of mysterious origin – that resulted in two cortisone shots, a benadryl shot, 10 days of oral steroids plus a full course of antibiotics…not to mention topical anti-itch, anti-inflammatory, antibiotic cream.

So, when I saw that rash, I’m not ashamed to say I cried.  Well, first I gasped.  Then I said something like “Oh, no.  Please, God.  NO!”  And THEN I cried.  Knowing I have another 10 days before I’ll be home, and knowing how quickly these things turn violently ugly, I admit to being afraid, worried, and quite concerned.  I immediately enlisted a few prayer warriors to pray over this rash, that it will heal quickly, remain contained, and above all not become infected.

Moments like this one make me glad I’ve got Someone watching over me.  Someone who knows why a few little welts on my leg make my insides turn to jello.  Someone who knows how much I miss my husband at moments like this.  Someone who doesn’t think I’m overreacting when the tears begin to fall.  Someone who knows my need and meets me at that exact moment with peace and understanding.  Someone who knew all along that this would happen, and knows what the end result will be.  Someone I can trust.  Completely.

With that assurance, I turned off my headlamp and bid this Lord’s Day farewell.

This is the day that the LORD has made;
let us rejoice and be glad in it.  (Psalm 118:24, ESV)

Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.  Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus…And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from his glorious riches, which have been given to us in Christ Jesus.  (Phil. 4:6-7, 19, NLT)

Ahhh, Saturday.

At home, Saturday means a day to sleep in, to relax, to catch up on family time and do projects that I never seem to have time or resources to accomplish throughout the week.  It’s a day for running errands, for organizing and planning for the week ahead, for fixing and mending and creating and resting.  It’s busy, it’s productive, and it’s fun.

Saturdays at the village are a little different.

Sleeping in?  Notsomuch.  When you sleep with the lights on, it’s just as light at 6AM as it is at 11 PM, so why stay in bed?

Relaxing?  Not really.  Not when there are chores to be done.  Not when you’ve got to wash – by hand – every stitch of clothing you own and get it on the line before everyone else takes up the space.  Not when you’re responsible for cooking breakfast for your entire house of 18-25 girls.  Not when you’ve got to sweep and mop and slash and dig.

Running errands?  Are you kidding me?  You have no car, no license, and no stores to speak of anywhere around.  You do with what you have.  Any “errands” are taken care of by staff guys on their boda-bodas, mainly purchasing cases of bottled water for the weak-stomached muzungas.

I awoke a bit battle-scarred as more than once I found a bony knee or pointy elbow jabbed in one place or another on my posterior side.  My “half” of the bed shrunk considerably as the night progressed and at one point I contemplated moving myself onto the floor, but decided against it.  After all, there’s no mosquito netting there.  Many of the girls are very afraid of the dark – horribly unspeakable things happened to them or their families in the dark – so at Hope House they sleep with the lights on all night long.  These girls are completely exhausted by the time they fall into bed at night so no amount of light or noise can keep them awake.  I know.  Franka proved that.

Despite my discomfort, it was truly an honor and a blessing for me to share a “sleepover” with her.  It was a little slice of being in her world for awhile, a memory I will cherish for as long as I live.  And no doubt about it, I would do it all over again.  Many, many times.

Franka walked me back to my hut, carrying my pillow the whole way.  Words cannot begin to describe how beautiful she is, inside and out.  As we walked hand-in-hand back to the house, we reminisced about our fun together the night before.  As I shared with Trace Franka’s admonition to “stop talking” at bedtime, we laughed, and Franka commented, “You talk too much!”  You’ll get no argument from me, Franka.  Guilty as charged.

We ate our breakfast of french toast and bananas as the sun rose over the trees.  Connor brought our team devotions, a powerful passage from the daily Jesus Calling devotional.  The following quotes spoke to me:

Refuse to worry about tomorrow.

I can weave miracles through the most mundane day if you will keep your eyes on Me.

Both of those are deeply challenging in their simplicity.  Refuse to worry.  Make a choice.  Deny it.  Stand up in the face of uncertainty and boldly say, I WILL NOT WORRY.  I will trust.  I know who’s got this and He trumps all.  Keep my eyes open.  See beyond the surface of things and look for opportunities for God to show up.  He doesn’t always appear in the earthquake or the fire or the strong wind.  Sometimes, He chooses to show up in the still, small voice.  Stay close to Him so you can tell the difference.

We weren’t able to help the house mothers today because the children were home and doing chores.  We feared that our presence might be a distraction and we wanted them to be able to focus on what needed to be done. Instead, we hung around the common area, practicing our song and planning for the flag football tournament in the afternoon.  After all the activity and busy-ness of yesterday it was a sort of letdown to be so inactive, but it was the best choice for the children.

It wasn’t until shortly before lunch – rice, beans, cabbage, and pineapple – that we were able to spend some time with the children.   Jacinta showed up and invited me to take a walk with her, so I obliged.  She promptly changed my name to “Mary”, so I promptly changed her name to “Rabbit.”  Turns out, she wanted some time in front of my camera.

I had actually met Jacinta in November, 2009, on my first trip to Uganda.  At that time, she was living in a refugee camp outside Gulu.

Jacinta is the one in the red shirt.  For some reason, I found myself drawn to her and the girls on her mat.

Vicky, the one speaking to me, spoke fairly good English and helped me communicate with all the other girls there.

They laughed as they taught me Acholi words and songs and I tried – miserably – say them.

This moment right here was my mission trip in 2009.  Sitting on this grass mat in the middle of a refugee camp in Uganda, singing songs of praise in a language I couldn’t understand, but being welcomed and accepted and loved just because I was there.  I never forgot Jacinta, or Nancy, the girl holding the necklace.

And there Jacinta was, out of the camp and in the village.  A happy, healthy, beautiful young woman.  Going to school and making friends and enjoying life in a community that loves and values her, a community that protects her, a community that sees her as created in the image of God, even if she is too cool for words.

We took a long walk, and during the walk, Rabbit opened up to me, sharing all about her family: her mother and father who had both died (she didn’t tell me how and I wouldn’t have dared to ask), her brothers and sisters.  Unable to probe too deeply, I could hear the sadness in her voice as she talked about where her siblings were, and my heart could only hope they were all safe and healthy like her.  I talked about my brothers and my parents, that my dad had died, too, and sometimes that made me a little sad.  I tried hard to not just hear her words but really listen…I wasn’t sure how long this opportunity would last.  Often I felt absolutely inadequate…speechless, if you can believe that.  What do you say to encourage someone who has lost so much? How do you tell them, “It’s all right” when it’s not?  How do you offer them any guarantees when their security is so shaken?  During those silent moments, I held her hand, I hugged her close, I blinked back the tears and just prayed.  Prayed for peace.  Prayed for healing.  Not just for her, but for the others who carry the same burden, who wrestle those same demons, who have endured that same living hell.

And I prayed that somehow I might be a ray of sunshine, a beam of light, a beacon of hope in her life.  Or maybe someone who simply drives her crazy with silliness.

We sat down under a shade tree as we continued to talk.  Of course, it wasn’t long before we had company. Muzunga + Camera = instant popularity.

It’s all smiles and good behavior at first.  Then they see what they look like, and the giggles start.  And then, the show begins!

Oh, yeah.  They’ve got muscles.  They may not be as big as those other guys, but you definitely don’t want to mess with these two.

One more thing…these guys can dance.  With a chick on their head, even.  Don’t worry, the chick was fine, if a little traumatized.

Click here to view the embedded video.

After lunch, I learned that Rose was up in Love House, sorting through the suitcases of donated clothes to distribute them to the children.  I had heard about this process, but had never seen it in person, so I headed up there to see if I could “help.”

We sorted clothes into general piles: dresses, skirts, girl’s tops, little girl’s tops, t-shirts, boy’s shirts, little boy’s shirts, pants, shorts, and baby clothes.  Piles of clothes covered every square inch of the sitting room floor.  You couldn’t walk from the doorway to the couch without stepping on some article of clothing.

The children lined up outside the house, boys in one line, girls in the other.

With nearly 200 children, each line was quite long.  But despite that, and standing in the sun, there were no scuffles, no arguments, no fighting.   The children waited, patiently, knowing that they were guaranteed to receive something.

And then, the distribution began.  Rose would select two items: a shirt and pants or shorts for the boys, a top and a skirt or a dress and a t-shirt for the girls, and we would simply give it to the child standing first in line.

Even if the clothes weren’t the right size, even if they didn’t match, even if the children didn’t care for the style or color or design, they didn’t complain.  They took what they were given, willingly, and traded and bartered with others if possible.  Or they simply made do.  No fussing, no refusing, no trace of ungratefulness.

As we distributed, dark clouds roiled overhead.  We pushed the pace, trying to get through the line before the rain fell.  We didn’t quite make it.  The last few children had to scurry for home, grabbing their laundry off the line with their new clothes on their way.  Thunder echoed around the camp.  Lightning flashed overhead.  Winds blew rain sideways as windows and doors were quickly drawn shut.  Soon, everything around us was soaked.

Rainy Saturdays are the worst.  Stuck at home with nothing to do.

Unless you are surrounded by your best friends!

We hung out on the veranda of Love House, singing the new songs they had learned – “Open the Eyes of my Heart” and “I Depend on You.”  I taught them “Boom Chick-a-Boom” and we sang and laughed and chanted and clapped until my voice was hoarse and my hands felt like they would fall off.

While we were singing, we noticed some unusual activity going on at Mercy House.  Rain had soaked their concrete front porch and some boy – we later found out it was Clinton – was “surfing” from one side to the other.  First on his feet, then on his knees, then on his hands and knees, he would slip-slide his way from one end of the veranda to the other.  Kari thought that looked like fun and before we knew what was happening, she had run across the courtyard to join him.  We had nearly as much fun watching them as they did sliding around!

The rain finally let up and the girls quickly hustled out to go to choir practice.  Trace and I joined them as they rehearsed their worship set for Sunday.  Though small in number, their voices echoed off the walls with such force I felt as if my eardrums might burst.  Another rainshower passed over us, providing cool breezes in the sweaty atmosphere.  An hour, maybe more, of continuous singing and exuberant dancing…better for the heart and body than any workout in the States…and we could hardly keep up.  Since we weren’t allowed to sit down  (We’re not finished, Gloria kept telling me, pulling me out of my seat every time I thought I’d take a rest), we finally excused ourselves.  Returning to our hut, we discovered the other 5 girls had been “trapped” inside by the rain and were itching to get out.  Trace and I used the quiet to sneak in a quick power nap.

The rain dampened our plans for the flag-football tournament, as well as movie night.  If the children were disappointed, they certainly didn’t show it, and had their usual evening routine of dinner, prep, and worship.  I joined Susan in the P6 class for worship, since she had invited me to her house for a sleepover.  Kristie was sleeping over with Flavia and Rachel was sleeping over with Gloria, so we all joined up for our walk up to Love House.

It was incredibly smoky inside the house because of the fire outside using wet wood.  I was concerned that this would make it difficult to sleep, but the rooms were fairly smoke-free.  We visited in the room, and then of course came the request to dance.  They taught us the Acholi friendship dance and then asked us to teach them “American dance”.  Yeah, right.  As if we have any traditional dances.

So what did we do?  We taught them the Cupid Shuffle.  Rachel had brought her ipod with the speakers so we actually had music to dance to.  We did the Cha-Cha Slide and even attempted the Electric Slide but as with Hope House, they claimed it was “too difficult.”

After getting all sweaty and hot dancing, we sat down to play a game of “concentration”.  Sitting in a big circle, we had to “let’s begin…first one…no repeats…and no delays…girls names…” or boy’s names, it didn’t matter.  Rachel proved how important it is to have lots of friends because not once did she repeat a name.  I was out in the second round.  Once we had a winner, we all agreed: it was time for bed.

Susan and I crawled into her bunk – she gave me the spot next to the wall – and they turned out the lights.  Many of these girls have been out of the camps for a few years, and have worked through some of their fears and trauma.  The room was very dark, which made it much more comfortable for sleeping.

Within moments, Susan was asleep, and I listened, quietly, to the sounds of the girls around me.  Peaceful sounds of deep breathing, quiet sounds of still bodies.  The mother in me drank it all in, feeling the swelling of love inside, a love so true and deep it almost hurts.  I wanted to reach out to these girls, to sit on their bedside and stroke their hair, like I do for my own babies.  I wanted to whisper in their ears words of love and tenderness, words of assurance and blessing.  I wanted to hug them goodnight and say prayers of peace and sweet dreams.  Instead, I lay, quietly, very still, enjoying the moment, until I, too, fell sound asleep.